


John's Chair

by JayeRedfox



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayeRedfox/pseuds/JayeRedfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Comforts Sherlock's insecurities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Chair

The flames from the fireplace crackled. Small embers jumping free and drifting to the ground. Always dying out before reaching the hardwood flooring. Never was he concerned about a fire from such small embers. Then again it was the sight of the man sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire that interested him more. His feet were curled up to his chest with a warm cup held between his legs and chest. The man was just staring intensely at the fire. Almost longingly he would say if he didn’t know any better. But he did. And he knew something was wrong, Sherlock never behaved this way. Not unless he was struggling with a particularly difficult case, or he was just feeling a little insecure. He figured it was the latter.

John stood in the door frame to their shared flat a little longer. He was just observing Sherlock Holmes. He’s never seen him this way. He was worried about him, about what torture he might be putting himself through in that magnificent brain of his. He was hardly ever silent. So now that he is, John knows something is wrong. He treads over lightly and sits down in Sherlock’s chair. That was the most peculiar thing. Sherlock was in John’s chair. Not his own. Something is doubly wrong. John sits and watches. He just waits until Sherlock is ready to talk. He doesn’t push or ask any questions. He just sits in companionable silence with him. It’s not until five minutes pass on the clock that Sherlock starts talking.

“You don’t have to sit with me John. I’m fine.”

“Yes, I do. Something is most definitely wrong.” John replies lightly without missing a beat.

“Please, enlighten me then.” Sherlock says trying to keep the quiver out of his voice and failing.

“Well for one, you made your own cuppa. You never do that, you always wait for me to come home to do it. Secondly you usually play your violin if it’s a case that’s bothering you. And thirdly and most obviously, that is my chair you sitting in.” 

“Well done, John. But you’ve missed something.”

“No I haven’t. I’m just not pointing it out.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow waiting for John to go on.

John sighs. He’s going to answer, because if he doesn’t he’ll only be putting Sherlock into a worse mood. He’ll be forcing him to retreat back into his head. He can tell Sherlock needs the attention, he needs the challenge. Or at least the illusion of one.

“You’re sitting my chair with a cuppa in you hands in front of the fire. Which means that your mood is directly related to something I did or didn’t do. Either way it is about me. I know that much.”

“You are correct.” Sherlock gives a small smirk to the floor and looks up at John, His eyes are glistening in the firelight. They may be sitting in the dark but John knows the difference between Sherlock's fake crying and real crying. Not that he’s ever experienced Sherlock cry, but because he knows his own flatmate so well. Sherlock may not notice, but John pays quite a bit of attention to the things he does.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay then.” John leans back in Sherlock's chair and looks back to the fire. Don’t push him. He’ll open up on his own, he thinks to himself.

“John?” Sherlock asks in a small voice. Almost vulnerable.

“Yes?”

“Do you… do you love me? I mean really love me.”

“Of course I do Sherlock. Why wouldn’t I?” John stares at Sherlock in disbelief. He could never not love this sociopathic man. He’s his entire world.

“It’s just. I’m different. I’m not normal. I don’t feel things the same way as you or anyone else on this bloody planet. I lack empathy for anyone really. I can’t quite interact properly with other people. I used to be a drug addict for christs sake! I regularly offend others without realizing it. And if I do realize it I never feel sorry about it. I don’t bat an eye when someone is killed or murdered or even mutilated. I just don’t see how anyone could possibly love me. Not even Mycroft. I’m sure he’s bloody tired of me. And I…”

“Sherlock Holmes.” John interrupts Sherlock’s rant and walks over to him. He grabs his head in his hands and plants a small but loving kiss onto Sherlock’s forehead. He then nuzzled Sherlock’s curls and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t care about those things Sherlock. I love you for being you. So what if you can’t quite engage with people or that you regularly do some gruesome experiments. Those things give me that many more reasons to love you. You may have you faults, everyone does. But that won’t for one second change how I feel about you.” John looked Sherlock in the eyes and gave him a small smile before gathering him in a hug.

They cuddled in John’s chair for the rest for the night. It was the most peaceful night they’ve ever had together. And the quietest Sherlock’s brain has ever been.


End file.
